Post by Rabbi Neil on Nov 18, 2018 17:55:47 GMT
Before I moved to Santa Fe for high school, I grew up in the blaring and industrious New York City. I loved the city for everything amazing it had to offer me: gigantic museums to explore, Central Park -- nature at its finest (or so I thought), an astounding variety of people and colors and sounds, pizza and bagels and Jews as far as the eye could see, a subway which could take you to neighborhoods that, back then, resembled entirely different countries. The city raised me to be brave and bold, to feel that the world was my oyster. But for all my bravery and boldness, as a young girl I often felt small and helpless within this towering place of non-stop stimulation and noise. And so sometimes my parents would read me these guided meditations for children, to help me wind down and fall asleep, or to take a break from the day if I was feeling sad or angry or anxious.
In these meditations, I would imagine. I would imagine a garden. In my garden was always a fairy or a guardian angel, who would lead me around and show me the magic of my inner sanctuary. She would show me that in my inner sanctuary, anything was possible. You see, the garden was completely mine to create. Being mine to create, a wrought iron gate led me through a vine covered trellis, into an organic oasis resplendent with bluebells and roses and tiger lillies and morning glories. Fruit grew off vines and trees and butterflies flew from flower to flower, pleased with their work. A wooden swing hung off a very large and very wise tree, who would give me sage advice and whose trunk contained a secret doorway that led to a series of happily lit tunnels where burrowing friends would invite me for tea and a chat. Often there were birds and animals, that paid me no mind or treated me with affection. In my garden, all life was sentient and all beings lived in harmony. Sometimes it was midday, a golden sun, and sometimes it was dusk, the sky a pale violet dotted with fireflies. Sometimes it was warm, and sometimes it was cold and snowy, but it didn’t matter because I created it and so I was happy. Usually, in my garden, it was sunny and bright, but sometimes the sky would open an a peaceful rain would feed iridescent puddles and and I would jump and splash amongst them. And when I was ready to be dry again, I would emerge from my meditation, cooing like a dove and happy as a clam, full of love, and feeling very warm. And I would sleep a peaceful sleep, or I would carry on with my day of play or whatever I did, feeling quite content. Whatever I had learned from the trees or the animals or my angels in the garden would stay with me as I moved back out into the world, if only for a short while.
As my parents stopped reading me these meditations over the years, I often forgot that my garden existed. You see, in order for my garden to exist, I had to recreate it over and over again. Like any garden, I had to tend it, and I had really left it to wilt, until recently. I had stopped taking time to create peace inside myself. In neglecting to sow and water the seeds of the garden of my mind and spirit, it became more and more difficult to presence peace and harmony, to radiate the love that existed there outward. It became harder to navigate pain and anger, to deal with bullies, to feel safe when sometimes it felt like my world was falling apart.
This week we read Bereishit, the story of Genesis, of Creation. Adam and Eve lived in this perfect place, where there was night and day, yet no pain or suffering. But they could not stay forever. It was not their destiny. Likewise, my garden, as fortifying as it is, has never been a place I could live forever. At some point, it becomes time to leave and to return to the world which we share, and which is also Divine.
The point of the garden is not to erase or conceal my pain, it is to provide for me a sanctuary, a palace, a place where sparks of Shekhinah make herself quite visibly felt, a place where I can hear my higher self, the part of me that resides a little closer to my Source. In this place I become whole again, emotionally equipped, reminded that it is up to me to create and recreate and recreate the world I want to live in, day after day, and that I can create from nothing. My garden exists “In the beginning.” In this place, I am reminded that I was created, b'tzelem elohim, in the image of the Divine -- in all of her magnificence and infinite forms. And I am reminded that the Divine takes so many forms. The Divine lives in the trees, the Divine lives in the day and the night, the Divine lives in my happiness, in my sadness, and indeed in my rage. And lately I am enraged.
It is fair to say that I stand and shout and pray from a place pretty far to the left. I have witnessed and personally felt deep injustice and oppression. I have taught in public high schools in Brooklyn and thought deeply and critically about race and class and oppression. I have spent years organizing to transform the American Jewish community into one that stands for freedom and dignity for all -- women, Queer people, Jews and non-Jews of color, poor and working class people, Sephardim and Mizrahim, Palestinians and Israelis. I believe women like Dr. Christine Blasey Ford and Julie Swetnick and am full of rage and disgust that someone who assaulted their bodies might make decisions about mine and women everywhere! And I feel absolutely CORRECT in my outrage, and validated by all those who share my rage and post memes about it that relieve the sting but clog up my social media. Never mind that my best friend in the world, who I personally and intimately trust more than anyone, voted for a candidate I found repugnant. But I love her and I wonder whether it matters how correct I think I am since she’s not budging anyway.
I pray to the Shekhinah - the Divine Feminine - in feminist, earth-based, embodied worship spaces, and I pray to the Earth for forgiveness for how we have treated her because I know in my heart that the Earth is Mother and so is God... and I think I am right because I feel it in my bones but then my friend, who I organize with, says she does not think God exists at all and that is true for her. And I respect her and her work, so does it matter whether I am right?
This is all quite confusing. So I remember my garden -- abundant and beautiful, free, equal, and harmonious -- and want with my every cell to live there, but I know I cannot stay there because even though this place is true, my values will not let me reside in my imagination. In the words of Rabbi Shefa Gold, the Garden of Eden exists for me to hear the praise of all Creation. And that’s all nice and well until I turn on the news, because that’s the responsible thing to do, and I instantly feel my rage. And even though my rage is true, I know that I cannot live there either.
Regardless of what specific vision is “correct,” I was made by the Divine, in her image, so my true rage and my true bliss must be Divine too. Because it is in the space between my rage and my bliss that I am compelled to do something, to continue to create, to create every morning and every day, with my words, with my feet, with my heart, the world I want to live in and share with all of you, not from rage but from nothing, that I may feel more whole, and that is Divine. In one of my activist communities, we sing as we march, “Olam Chesed Yibaneh! We Will Build This World With Love!” And so I ask, with the sparks that our Source left in each of us, what will we create that will leave us and the world a little more whole? How will we build our world with love?
Shabbat Shalom.
In these meditations, I would imagine. I would imagine a garden. In my garden was always a fairy or a guardian angel, who would lead me around and show me the magic of my inner sanctuary. She would show me that in my inner sanctuary, anything was possible. You see, the garden was completely mine to create. Being mine to create, a wrought iron gate led me through a vine covered trellis, into an organic oasis resplendent with bluebells and roses and tiger lillies and morning glories. Fruit grew off vines and trees and butterflies flew from flower to flower, pleased with their work. A wooden swing hung off a very large and very wise tree, who would give me sage advice and whose trunk contained a secret doorway that led to a series of happily lit tunnels where burrowing friends would invite me for tea and a chat. Often there were birds and animals, that paid me no mind or treated me with affection. In my garden, all life was sentient and all beings lived in harmony. Sometimes it was midday, a golden sun, and sometimes it was dusk, the sky a pale violet dotted with fireflies. Sometimes it was warm, and sometimes it was cold and snowy, but it didn’t matter because I created it and so I was happy. Usually, in my garden, it was sunny and bright, but sometimes the sky would open an a peaceful rain would feed iridescent puddles and and I would jump and splash amongst them. And when I was ready to be dry again, I would emerge from my meditation, cooing like a dove and happy as a clam, full of love, and feeling very warm. And I would sleep a peaceful sleep, or I would carry on with my day of play or whatever I did, feeling quite content. Whatever I had learned from the trees or the animals or my angels in the garden would stay with me as I moved back out into the world, if only for a short while.
As my parents stopped reading me these meditations over the years, I often forgot that my garden existed. You see, in order for my garden to exist, I had to recreate it over and over again. Like any garden, I had to tend it, and I had really left it to wilt, until recently. I had stopped taking time to create peace inside myself. In neglecting to sow and water the seeds of the garden of my mind and spirit, it became more and more difficult to presence peace and harmony, to radiate the love that existed there outward. It became harder to navigate pain and anger, to deal with bullies, to feel safe when sometimes it felt like my world was falling apart.
This week we read Bereishit, the story of Genesis, of Creation. Adam and Eve lived in this perfect place, where there was night and day, yet no pain or suffering. But they could not stay forever. It was not their destiny. Likewise, my garden, as fortifying as it is, has never been a place I could live forever. At some point, it becomes time to leave and to return to the world which we share, and which is also Divine.
The point of the garden is not to erase or conceal my pain, it is to provide for me a sanctuary, a palace, a place where sparks of Shekhinah make herself quite visibly felt, a place where I can hear my higher self, the part of me that resides a little closer to my Source. In this place I become whole again, emotionally equipped, reminded that it is up to me to create and recreate and recreate the world I want to live in, day after day, and that I can create from nothing. My garden exists “In the beginning.” In this place, I am reminded that I was created, b'tzelem elohim, in the image of the Divine -- in all of her magnificence and infinite forms. And I am reminded that the Divine takes so many forms. The Divine lives in the trees, the Divine lives in the day and the night, the Divine lives in my happiness, in my sadness, and indeed in my rage. And lately I am enraged.
It is fair to say that I stand and shout and pray from a place pretty far to the left. I have witnessed and personally felt deep injustice and oppression. I have taught in public high schools in Brooklyn and thought deeply and critically about race and class and oppression. I have spent years organizing to transform the American Jewish community into one that stands for freedom and dignity for all -- women, Queer people, Jews and non-Jews of color, poor and working class people, Sephardim and Mizrahim, Palestinians and Israelis. I believe women like Dr. Christine Blasey Ford and Julie Swetnick and am full of rage and disgust that someone who assaulted their bodies might make decisions about mine and women everywhere! And I feel absolutely CORRECT in my outrage, and validated by all those who share my rage and post memes about it that relieve the sting but clog up my social media. Never mind that my best friend in the world, who I personally and intimately trust more than anyone, voted for a candidate I found repugnant. But I love her and I wonder whether it matters how correct I think I am since she’s not budging anyway.
I pray to the Shekhinah - the Divine Feminine - in feminist, earth-based, embodied worship spaces, and I pray to the Earth for forgiveness for how we have treated her because I know in my heart that the Earth is Mother and so is God... and I think I am right because I feel it in my bones but then my friend, who I organize with, says she does not think God exists at all and that is true for her. And I respect her and her work, so does it matter whether I am right?
This is all quite confusing. So I remember my garden -- abundant and beautiful, free, equal, and harmonious -- and want with my every cell to live there, but I know I cannot stay there because even though this place is true, my values will not let me reside in my imagination. In the words of Rabbi Shefa Gold, the Garden of Eden exists for me to hear the praise of all Creation. And that’s all nice and well until I turn on the news, because that’s the responsible thing to do, and I instantly feel my rage. And even though my rage is true, I know that I cannot live there either.
Regardless of what specific vision is “correct,” I was made by the Divine, in her image, so my true rage and my true bliss must be Divine too. Because it is in the space between my rage and my bliss that I am compelled to do something, to continue to create, to create every morning and every day, with my words, with my feet, with my heart, the world I want to live in and share with all of you, not from rage but from nothing, that I may feel more whole, and that is Divine. In one of my activist communities, we sing as we march, “Olam Chesed Yibaneh! We Will Build This World With Love!” And so I ask, with the sparks that our Source left in each of us, what will we create that will leave us and the world a little more whole? How will we build our world with love?
Shabbat Shalom.